Scribbles
by An Elysian Eiffel
Summary: (Insert summary here)


Scribbles

_**A/N: For Spotsy, and I wish you a Merry Christmas!**_

_**(This is a little sad in the beginning. Warning you ahead of time.)**_

_**Christmas is not only a time for **__**cookies**__**, presents, and family, but it is a time of reconciliation of pure existence itself. I wrote this to internally realize this. **_

_**Enjoy.**_

_ The land was desolate, and fragile, like stained glass. _It looked as if you were to step on it, it would shatter into trillions of microscopic prisms, all bending and refracting the world around them at an utterly mental speed, yet having singularity, with light passing through lightly. And it would shatter, it would instantly re-form, in a blink of an eye.

A single ShadowClan cat lay right below the now-setting sun, and the world and his surroundings was outlined and submerged in a relaxing, sovereign black with a dark-orange background in the distance. He somehow had the concept that this sunset would the last sunset for him. Time was going to become timeless, the swan's song will be heard, falling infinitely into whole, abysmal darkness.

He dug his claws in the ground with a fierce, terribly aggravated by some terrors only his mind knew of. The cat was titled Brokenpaw. He was a midnight black- with amber-red eyes, with a cut tail, and a claw ripped out. His name truly had history, and being solely named what he had been would through you in an entropy, falling down the social and mental ladder. The most infamous ShadowClan leader had been the inspiration of this cat's name. The amount of rage that a queen had to go through to produce this name was finitely limitless.

Falling was something he had dreamed of. The thought of falling, falling into terrors, past them, and more was a thought he had made of. The exhilaration, and the knowing of you going elsewhere, not here, was an appealing factor to him.

But there was something even better. The fact that there was a greater infinity then what he knew what had co-existed in this world. His impact may not be as great, but also he would make an everlasting impact in the darkness was a satisfying feeling, and happiness ran through his veins like tomorrow never existed.

Any cat who did not know the pain of this would call him hysterical, an infectious disease, anything else than a cat. He wasn't worthy of that title and he already understood this. What he did fathom was that he was going to be feeling the most alive, right before the moment when he was not.

Upon birth, he wasn't exactly Starkit. Upon birth, he was dark, had hazel eyes, which had never been seen in a kit that had the stance of being on the verge of glowing white-hot red. His fur was tattered and teathered, and he let out a kit-like growl that wasn't friendly, or fake.

He always had an aura surrounding him that felt mean, vicious, or savage. No cat could describe it. Upon approaching Brokenpaw, cats noticed things. Things that were talked about, that inspired, that punished.

Brokenpaw was left out ever since kit-hood. In games of "Mouse" or "Warrior", he was always the bad guy, and it was everyone's job to defeat him. In his anger, he lashed out and made as much blood-spill as possible after an unfortunate, but repeated, loss.

From here, he was delayed to be an apprentice even further. He was just sitting in blank space watching as his kit-hood rivals came back to haunt him, furthermore causing simplistic nightmares when he was just a kit.

His mind was put on eternal steroids, because there was no form of help with Brokenpaw. He was always thinking, using all of his brain, and could very consistently concentrate harder than any cat could.

Eventually, he was apprenticed, when there was a shortage of Warriors to actually train them. As a stupid result, he was actually forced to train himself, and it went cataclysmic. He had no challenge against anything, and with the burning rage that intoxicated him since birth, he used his physical and mental strength on one of the Warriors. The warrior, named Fireflight, had no offense or recoil, and she was badly injured; nearly killed.

The cats had no choice but to see and accept that this cat was cursed. They literally told him "There is no hope, jump off a cliff." He was sentenced 7 days of roaming outside of the camp, and he was expected dead by the night. In the seven days, he had no solace. All this cat had was a final female companion who took pity on him. Every night, she stealthily went out of camp, and visited him.

_She is due at this time. _Brokenpaw thought. _The last contact I will have with intelligent life, and then I am off to StarClan knows where. _He silently trudged upon the frail, weak ground to see the cat. Her eyes shone beautifully, and her light-brown pelt was on the verge of perfection.

"The last call is calling." Brokenpaw mewed, being nearly non-sentient. "The ashes are burning. I am going to die today." There was a sadness that seemed to define who and what he was, especially with the last words of him.

"Well. I… am sorry to hear that." She unsheathed her claw, and scraped it on the ground delicately, as well as sorrowfully. She lifted it after drawing the outline of a semi-circle, and started making an oval shape.

"Why are you doing that?" Brokenpaw responded kind of boisterously. "My last moments before I show up in StarClan-knows-where, and you relinquish it with whatever the heck you are doing?"

"Its not a big deal." The apprentice replied. "There was a rumor in the camp that started that twolegs try to actually copy eachother on their contraptions, and they get stuff out of it! Some of them even do it instead of hunting, or driving monsters, or whatever they do. It is called scribbling."

"Well, if so," Brokenpaw started. "Scribble me out of existence! Mistakes erased! I don't want to be remembered as something amid in this ill-omened world! I don't want to be a dark stone in a phosphorescent world." He slashed his claw through the scribble the she-cat was scribbling, and put on a half-boiling, furious look, and a half-calm and utterly despondent look.

Both of the cats knew what he meant. He wanted suicide, for no purpose at all.

She just looked toward Brokenpaw sadly. "Well, imagine what _you_ could do Brokenpaw! You don't mean this! You never can, will, or will try!"

"I do. This world needs nothing of me. I know it sounds immental, but it is the best idea in my mind. There is nothing left. The final call is calling!"

The she-cat's mind raced. She was the sole protector of this cat from killing himself, within minutes. She was the reviver of a soul. She eternally impacted existence. She had to find the power inside her.

"Go and jump off the cliff. But I want you to know two things." The she-cat was prominent and valiant in her efforts, saying each word singularly, newly, as if it came straight from the utmost trench of her heart. "These are the things we live for. Small things, that may last forever. Some infinities may be bigger than others. Things like the time with family, newfound knowledge, sharing a piece of prey. It is what makes you alive. It makes me love you."

Brokenpaw, was a little fazed by this, and hence, did look at her with a little less intention to kill himself. There was a little somber silence hanging in the air. "Please. What does it take to make you love me again? What does it take to get you to avoid death? What does it get for the Clan leader to see again?" She explored into his heart, seeing what would captivate him and intrigue him.

He finally seemed convinced, and exploded out into a storm of tears and raw, pure emotion. The entropy of the Clans was being reconciled to them. He sat, and cried.

"I love you too."

He sat, and scribbled. Scribbled his life, his frame of mind. The cat drew away, making a life from the very dirt beneath him. The cat looked at his piece of life; his seven days of judgement. "I have to save my life." Brokenpaw, calmly as he could, uttered.

They walked with assurance, with a swagger almost. With a trust that could move mountains, with a newfound love, passion, and entitlement.

Brokenpaw came before the leader of the Clan; entitled with the name Whitestar. He was a silky, yet seducing white-furred cat. He had some black specks on his tail and paws, and on his underbelly, connecting them.

"What does this hellspawn want? You dare show your cursed face in this camp?" Whitestar spat at the two, showing no respect, going into terms of negative. "Why is he not dead?"

"I want to live. I mean it, you piece of fox-dung." Brokenpaw made a strong response, and dug his claw into the ground. "Your bedeviled soul needs to realize something."

"Ok. And swearing at a leader will help?" Whitestar wasn't fazed. It took a bigger effort to save a life, and hope.

"I don't care if I do. I am mad. I am going to sware. Let me get something straight." Brokenpaw had solemn determination, posing resistance as best he could. "A cat is a cat. Tainted soul or no, they are sentient. They deserve emotion, chance, mistakes made or not. Since when has it been that you could sentence a cat to his eternal death?"

"Since the leader's word is law." She was frank and spit out raw facts to make an argument.

"A life is a life. I am not a ghost! Nor will I be! **Let me go!**" He felt inspiration, and life rushing through him. He reached the end, and started scribbling. He drew with rapid, unreal emotion, and he made lines in perfection, and soon, he gave his life into these lines he drew. "Look at me. I am a cat. My mind has cat related things. Besides, you remember the prophecy StarClan gave to you?"

Whitestar saw that he was gambling very hardly, but still knew it was true. She was trying to be as mean as possible, but the emotions and words ran through her, assimilating on her.

She rotated toward Brokenpaw, and said, "Live."


End file.
